


A Deal in Arms

by melanoms



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, Childhood Friends, Coma, Everyone is bad with emotions, F/M, Murder, Patricide, Protective Siblings, Smut, Snipers, talk murder to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26058832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoms/pseuds/melanoms
Summary: Every member of the Moran family is destined to fulfill two obligations: exceptional marksmanship and military service. You're determined to escape your fate from the moment you know of it. But when your brother returns broken from the war, you might finally get to redefine your family's legacy of contract killers—with the help of your long-time friend James Moriarty.
Relationships: Jim Moriarty/Original Female Character(s), Jim Moriarty/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	1. The House of Moran

**Author's Note:**

> It's becoming my usual to write more OC in second person. So be warned. I also decided to bump up the timeline for when Jim kills Carl Powers. So imagine they’re teenagers around then.

Three days.

Three days passed by.

You hadn’t left your brother’s bedside.

Elbow teetering on the armrest of the chair, you cradled your face in your palm as you began your nightly ritual of drifting to a half-sleep for ten minutes at a time.

When Sebastian came home in a less than useful condition, your mother burned his face from the mural of the family tree with the butt of her cigarette. As he was erased from all conversations, thoughts, and memorabilia, you were screaming at the doctors when they said he may never wake up.

“You look disgusting,” Jim hummed from the doorway.

You jolted awake and reached for your firearm. But after a moment’s calculation, you slumped back in your seat.

“Fuck off, Jamie.” You bore your eyes forward.

Jim put his hands in his pockets and took a few steps into the hospital room. He furrowed his brow at your brother then examined your state of unrest.

“Why are you doing this?” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s not…useful.”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“I won’t. But I still want to hear why.”

Grinding your teeth, your eyes flickered to him. After sucking in a breath, you readjusted your gaze to focus on the rise and fall of your brother’s chest.

“I have to keep him safe,” you whispered.

“Isn’t it a little late for that?”

“Jim.”

“He knew this was a risk. Isn’t that what soldiers do? They die.”

“Get the fuck out of here.” You glared at him. “Before I make you.”

“My, you are emotional. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to threaten me on any given day.”

“Not because I’d regret it.”

“Because it bores me.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m trying to do? Bore you out of this room so you’ll leave me alone?”

“Is that what you want?”

You buried your face in your hands and sucked in a breath. 

“Jamie, please.”

Jim’s eyes darted around the room upon hearing your voice crack. 

You, the latest in the line of exceptional marksmen—who could precisely pace your breathing, calculate the impact of your heart rate, and successfully shoot a single headshot through a skull in a taxi moving at 100 kph—were _emotional_.

And it was written all over your body.

You tightened your hands into fists as you watched your brother breathe. Sebastian’s return from the war was the only event to eclipse your inseparability with Jim. Ever since he found a note in his trouser pocket that said “I know what you did”.

Because back in 1989, Carl Powers no longer suffered from eczema as his skin shriveled six-feet under the ground.

The Holmes boy was squawking to the police but at least he wasn’t laughing. He hadn’t solved the case yet. But even if he did, Jim knew his announcement would be far less subtle than a crumpled piece of parchment stained with red ink.

The day after you left your admission to Jim, you opened your notebook at the beginning of maths class. But instead of a blank canvas for your typical doodles, you raised your eyebrows at the name of your dreadfully dull teacher. 

By the end of the day, Jim found a note in his bag that detailed your precise plan to poison the stuttering man via his second cup of tea. And, at the bottom in bright red, was the name of an obnoxiously chatty classmate of yours.

And the real exam began.

You and Jim exchanged names and execution plans for the next seven days. But after your detailed plan to asphyxiate Jim and stage it as a hazy ritual gone wrong, he finally deemed you worthy of a conversation.

While you were washing your hands, he entered the toilet and pressed his back to the door. 

“Wrong door.” You smirked and turned off the faucet.

“You don’t live up to the family name.”

“I still have a few years to become a soldier.” 

After drying off your hands, you stepped toward the door. But Jim held up a finger to stop you in your tracks.

“You didn’t tell anyone.”

“Carl had an annoying laugh.” You shrugged. “Someone had to get rid of him.” 

You pushed past him to exit the toilet and leave him by himself.

But, for the first time in his life, James Moriarty was not alone.

Months later, you shoveled down your dinner as your father discussed plans to introduce Sebastian to a former Army captain. You slammed your fork to the plate and scowled.

“May I be excused, sir?” you blurted out.

The moment your father spoke, you flinched.

“Just because you’re younger, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pay attention.”

“I just,” you swallowed, “I have an exam to study for.”

“Subject?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Physics, sir. Physics.”

“You’re excused.”

Your eyes flickered to your mother as she scowled at your half-finished food. But shoving the scrutiny of her gaze into the usual pit in your stomach, you tossed your dishes in the sink and raced to your room. 

The moment you closed your bedroom door, Jim stepped into view.

“Jamie!” You jerked backward. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was bored.”

You rolled your eyes and waited for your heart to return to your chest. With a smirk, Jim pounced on your bed and started rolling around the mattress.

“If you slept on this side right here,” he hummed, “I could just—”

“Oh, stop.” You smacked him with a pillow. “You’re not murdering me.”

“Not tonight,” he sang. 

Jim’s eyes drifted to your pile of textbooks strewn across your desk. 

“They still haven’t figured it out?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“That I have a psychopathic stalker?”

“That you don’t study. You never have to.”

“Can you imagine all the exams they’d put me through? I’m bored enough as it is. Let alone having to try.”

You sat on the edge of the bed and eyed him.

“Where do your parents think you are?”

“That implies they think at all. Let alone about me.”

“Fair enou—”

He yanked you to the mattress next to him. You stared at him with wide eyes, acutely aware of the rhythm of his breath.

“What’s your plan when you enlist?” he asked.

“Your sense of humor is dulling, Jamie.”

“I mean it.” He bore his eyes into you. “I want inside.”

“You’re already in my mind. I have more options than my brother. And not enlisting is one of them.”

“Have I inspired you to go rogue?”

“I come from a line of contract killers. All employed by Her Majesty thus far. But my parents don’t have to know who writes my paycheck.”

You started to peel your body from the mattress. But Jim yanked on the collar of your shirt to bring your nose a breath away from his.

“Leave with me,” he whispered.

“And draw the outline of a body in chalk outside the Holmes residence?”

“No.” He smirked. “For good.”

“What are we going to do? A couple of kid hitmen?”

“We could take contracts now. We’ve already completed our proof of concept.”

“Such a businessman,” you droned.

“We could do it.” He looked into your eyes, calculating exactly how much of you was genuinely entertaining the idea.

“I-I can’t, Jamie. I can’t just leave.”

Jim looked at the ceiling and dragged his hands over his face.

“Sebastian,” he groaned.

“He’s on the conveyor belt. I can’t just abandon him.” 

“I don’t understand what you _see_ in him.”

“He’s going to wake up someday. And when he does, I-I need to be there for him.”

“This attachment…” Jim scowled.

But before his mind could linger, there was a gentle knock on your door.

“Heartbreaker, you got a sec?”

“Yeah, Seb,” you squeaked. “Be right there.”

With a grunt, you propped yourself upright and hopped off the bed. You mouthed ‘hide’ to Jim.

Cracking open the door, you peered through the slit and raised your eyebrows.

“Everything okay?” you asked.

“I was going to ask you the same.”

“Yeah, just stu—”

“You don’t study.”

You gulped and glanced at the floor. But Sebastian shook his head and smirked.

“I don’t know what you’re experimenting with behind closed doors. But at least I know you’re not messing around with boys. Too smart for all of them.”

“I’m fine. I’m more worried about you meeting Captain Conveyer Belt this weekend.”

“It’s not, stop. I’m actually excited about this.”

“If you say so, Colonel Moran. If you say so.”

Shaking your head, you closed the door. But when you turned around, Jim was no longer in your room. You walked to your desk and sighed at the single name written on your physics doodles.

Your father’s.

Now, at St Bartholomew's Hospital, Jim dragged a chair next to you and plopped in the seat, unsure of what exactly he was doing. Or, Devil forbid, why.

But as your eyes fluttered closed and you jerked yourself awake again, Jim studied your movements and gave you a nod.

“I’ll watch him,” he offered.

“I can’t, no.”

“Don’t be modest.” Jim rolled his eyes and withdrew his mobile. “I’ll watch you both.”

“And your clients?”

“Can survive eight hours without me. Or they deserve what’s coming to them.”

“Make it four. Wake me up in four.”

Jim completed a few texts and tucked away his phone. He opened his mouth to confirm your request was received. But you were already finally, finally, finally asleep.

As Jim watched you rest, he felt something that he hadn’t since cornering you in the toilet all those years ago.

He felt hope.

Hope that you would finally get off the conveyor belt.


	2. Back to Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not plan on this taking this direction. But here we are. To be clear, everyone is over 18 by this point.

With the precision that made your family name, you delicately traced the razor across Sebastian’s skin. 

“I know you’d have a heart attack if you woke up with a mess of a face.” 

You smiled at him, rinsing the razor in the metal basin.

“But don’t you worry, Seb. I’m going to keep you in pristine condition. All the girls will fancy you. Boys too.”

You hadn’t let a single nurse come near him with a razor. 

When you were 87% complete with shaving Sebastian’s face, you held your breath at a presence at the door.

“No,” you commanded.

“I know the timing isn’t—”

“Send Harrison, Mycroft.”

“He’s indisposed. Besides, this job requires a rather _particular_ touch.”

But you continued to hum to Sebastian as you tended to his appearance.

“You’ll be back in a matter of days.” Mycroft tapped his fingers along the handle of his umbrella.

“You know what my father said when I asked if I should sign a DNR?”

“I will station someone here to tend to his care.”

“He asked if I could bring home some ammo for him.” Your eyes flickered to Mycroft. “You know, the good stuff.”

You set the basin and razor aside, exchanging them for a washcloth as you wiped the remaining shaving cream from Sebastian’s skin.

“My brother was supposed to come home a hero,” you continued. “It didn’t matter if he was in a body bag. He was supposed to be...well, not this.”

“I’m...sorry.” Mycroft leaned his head back, examining the words on his tongue.

“Where do you need me?”

“Moscow.” He drew in a breath. “Do you want to kno—”

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty. I don’t care who or why. Leave the dossier on your way out.” 

You set the washcloth aside and turned to face Mycroft. He drew in a calculated breath.

“Very well. I trust you can set your _emotions_ aside.” 

“I’m a Moran.” You smirked. “They surgically remove them at birth.”

Mycroft set the dossier on the nearest end table. He turned to exit the room. But before he could vanish from your sight, Mycroft turned around and narrowed his eyes.

“When you return, please give me the name of your surgeon.”

As the tapping of Mycroft’s shoes filled the hallway, you rose to your feet to retrieve the dossier. Examining the death warrant, you withdrew your mobile and called Jim.

“Tell me it’s Germany,” he answered. “I need to take care of something.”

“Or someone. But no, you’ll have to take your own holiday.”

“Where are we leaving your kiss of death?”

“Actually, um…” You cleared your throat. “I’m going alone this time.”

Silence.

“I’ll be back soon.”

You ended the call.

Never making the mistake of letting Jim near your wounded heart again.

The family surgeon only butchered yours.

The night Sebastian announced his first deployment, you ate a single bite of dinner that did not stay in your stomach for long. The evening ended when Sebastian gave a firm handshake and salute to your father. You raced out of the toilet and caught him just outside the front door.

“You can’t go,” you panted.

“You’re going to have to do more cardiovascular training.” He smirked.

“Seb!” You threw out your hands. “This is serious, this is real. You could, you could get hurt.”

“I think I’m pretty well prepared. In the blood, y’know.” 

He put his hands in his pockets and leaned forward. 

“You can still get out this.” You shook your head. “I-I can get you out of this.”

“Geez, Heartbreaker! I don’t want out. I’m _proud_ of what I’ve done, of what I’m doing. And so is Dad. I mean, it’s no secretive recruitment or whatever they’re doing with you, but…”

“I didn’t ask for this.” You glared at him.

“You sure stopped hiding your freakish genius side when you found out what it could get you.”

“Oh, piss off!” You stomped your foot. “It’s just this ladder-climbing cock who’s trying to make a name for himself. Thinks he can run the entire government on his own!”

“You keep pretending that you don’t want this, but for all your talk about leaving the family business, look who’s riding the conveyor belt just like the rest of us? The only ladder-climber I see around here is—”

You punched him right in the jaw.

Sebastian stumbled backward and threw his hand to his face. When he secured his balance, he pointed a finger at you and shook his head. He could have eviscerated you with his gaze alone.

“If you follow me to Iraq, you better use that L115A3 and take me out with a headshot.”

Your eyes blew wide open as you clenched your jaw. Scowling at you, Sebastian shook his head.

“Oh yeah, I’m not as stupid as you make me out to be. I know exactly what they’re doing with you.”

“I have _never_ called you stupid! That’s your own shit!”

“And you’re such a display of psychological excellence? Ever think that you’re fighting me so hard because you’re projecting your disappointment in _yourself_?”

Sebastian stared at your wide eyes and took a step forward. He shoved a finger in your face and growled.

“Don’t you dare forget where you came from. You _are_ one of us. And we—”

“Serve with excellence!” you shrieked.

“You better get a handle on your emotions, baby sister. Because this is completely out of line.”

“I’m no soldier.” You balled your hands into fists.

“No, but you are a Moran.” 

Sebastian stomped to his vehicle. Biting your lip, you blinked rapidly to compose yourself. 

Measuring your heart rate.

Identifying vulnerable points of attack.

Sebastian.

Sebastian throwing open the door.

“Seb!” 

He looked up and you gulped.

“I love you,” you said, eyes lining with the unspeakable.

Sebastian’s gaze flickered downward before returning to you. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled.

“I love you too. And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”

As Sebastian abandoned you in favor of the war, you phoned Jim. He answered on the first ring.

“If I used botulinum again, am I getting uncreative?”

“Or just refining your MO,” your voice cracked.

“Sebastian.”

“No, it’s not, I just...I need out. Jamie, get me out.”

He ended the call.

_Finally._

In an instant, you received a text message with an address.

Jim was always staying in new places these days. Even you could barely keep up.

When you arrived, he didn’t even make you pick the lock. You threw the door open and he held up a glass of scotch. But to even Jim’s surprise, you yanked him by the lapels of his suit jacket and brought him into a kiss.

“What are you—”

The glass splintered on the floor.

“Don’t talk,” you panted, shards crunching underneath you.

And, to your mutual relief, he obliged.

You led Jim to his chosen bed for the night, week, year, time didn’t matter anymore. Throwing your back to the mattress, you hooked your fingers through his belt loops and pressed him on top of you.

“You’re going to regret this,” he threatened.

Jim bit your neck and sucked, as if to extract the grief from your fevered skin. You arched your back in reply with a gasp. Grinding your hips into him, you started removing his jacket and shook your head.

“Don’t,” you moaned, “talk.”

He threw his hands under your shirt just to watch your eyes bolt open and feel the tenseness of your muscles. Examining your pupils and rate of breathing, he studied your face. 

While he was not known to be a generous person, at that moment, Jim decided to give you exactly what you were silently asking for. What you’ve been asking for ever since he met you.

He let you come undone.

With the weight of excellence lifted from your shoulders, you tasked yourself with the responsibility of undressing him. You freed each of his buttons with the physical dexterity that made your name. But before you could liberate the entrepreneur from his shirt, he outperformed you and removed yours. 

Accompanied by a harmony of gasps and moans, you helped strip yourself bare for him. Jim threw his hand between your legs. But the look in your eyes as he explored you, felt you was too much.

He couldn’t, he couldn’t let himself regret this.

Eye contact beyond the madman’s comprehension, he flipped you over to direct your face to the bed. You whined when he removed his fingers from your wetness from behind. But Jim made it up to you when he wrapped his arm under your ribcage and yanked you upright to your knees. 

He clasped your throat with his palm and leaned in. 

“You _do_ serve with excellence,” he murmured onto the nape of your neck.

With a gentle cry, you bucked your hips back into him. You took satisfaction is feeling that his desire matched your own. Grunting, Jim placed his palm to your back and shoved you on all fours. 

He toyed with you with two demanding fingers; first feeling the slickness of your folds. Then inserting them inside you to make you shriek on command. You clenched the sheets between your fingers as you jerked your hips backward for more stimulation.

Taking that as his cue, Jim finished what you started by lowering his trousers and pants just enough to free his length. He tore open the foil packet that he never expected to use—let alone with you—and rolled on the condom. 

Without warning, he drove himself into you. Panting without control or composure, you matched his rhythm. Each of you effectively using and fearing each other as your pleasure continued to build.

But, craving—well, he wasn’t sure what it was—Jim hooked his arm around your ribs and pulled you upright again. Tucking his nose into the back of your neck, he pumped himself into you until you were

Completely.

Helplessly.

Undone.

Your walls clenched around him as your climax tore through you. It was not long after that he followed your lead. And while it was not a new experience for him, this time it felt...different.

For whatever damned reason.

After a weighted moment’s hesitation, Jim removed himself from you. You threw your back to the bed and it bounced in reply. With tense muscles, he examined your every movement and expression. 

Jim studied and stored the information for further use, unsure if it was meant to be used for or against you one day.

You bit your lip as your gaze flickered to him. 

“Um, shower?”

Clenching his jaw, he nodded and gestured to the bathroom. You accepted his invitation, avoiding eye contact as you made your way to clean yourself.

When you were finished, you furrowed your brow at the bed. But when Jim returned to the bedroom, having utilized the second bathroom, he gestured to the mattress and shrugged.

“If you…”

“Thanks.”

Scratching the back of your head, you slid into bed. Jim spent the night studying your sleep patterns; identifying exactly when you stopped faking and finally succumbed to slumber.

By the morning, you woke up to an empty bed, barring a single note.

_Back to duty._

And he wasn’t talking about his growing business.

You never spoke of that night again.


	3. Family Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. Things get a bit fucked up here.

Positioned on a rooftop, you flattened yourself on your stomach. You peered through the crosshairs of your scope. Gritting your teeth, you shoved your wandering thoughts into the twisting knot in your stomach; where they always belonged.

Now was not the time to think about your brother.

You had to feel the breath in your lungs; steady their airflow.

Black SUVs prowled into the car park across the street. They disarmed their engines and extinguished their lights. The snow melted upon impact on the tinted windows.

Now was not the time to think about the promises the recruiter made to Sebastian.

You had to feel the beat of your heart; calculate its rate.

Your mark exited one of the vehicles. She sneered at the negotiator and shook her head. Clasping her hands in front of her overcoat, she leaned back as one of the extorted men presented a silver case. He opened the latches and displayed the merchandise. 

Now was not the time to think about how you begged him not to go before every deployment.

You had to feel the breeze across your cheek; measure its impact.

After deeming the exchange worthy, she whistled at one of her boys. With gruff grips and malicious intent, they dragged the hostage from the vehicle. He wore a black bag over his head. But your chest involuntarily tightened at the sight of his uniform.

A soldier’s uniform. 

No, now was not the time to think.

It was time to feel.

Your finger yanked on the trigger, initiating a flurry of gunfire below. 

But as the bullet tore through the silken threads and made its way out of the hostage’s skull, all of time halted to a stop. 

Your pupils blew wide open as your mark, your very much living mark, slaughtered the hostage negotiation team. She snagged the case and leaped into the back seat of one of the vehicles. As they tore through the streets, she scanned the rooftops for the ghost killer. 

Even in all her years of deals, nothing like this has ever happened before.

Nothing like you.

When all survivors successfully escaped the massacre, the breath returned to your lungs as you yanked your hat from your head.

“Shit,” you breathed. “Dad’s gonna kill me.”

In an empty sewer tunnel, Jim clasped his hands behind his back and smirked.

“Gotcha,” he hummed.

Oskar Dzundza narrowed his eyes at the puny man.

“Here to take out the competition?” the assassin growled. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Take you out? What? No.” 

Jim took a few steps forward. He put one hand in his pocket and waved a finger.

“Why take you out when I’m interested in hiring you?”

“You can’t afford me.”

“I’ll pay you double what they are if you work for me exclusively. Triple if you take them out yourself.”

“So this is about the competition?”

“Yeah, okay. It is.” Jim shrugged. 

But before he could continue, his mobile started singing. 

_ I Shot the Sheriff _

Your song.

His fingers tighten around the device in his pocket as he gritted his teeth.

“I’ll initiate a wire transfer tomorrow.”

He nodded to the assassin and exited the freezing tunnel.

With half a second to spare, he answered and drew in a breath.

“Dinner at our usu—”

“Jim, I fucked up. I really fucked up.”

“We’ve made our way around the maître d' before.”

“I missed, Jim. I bloody missed.”

He furrowed his brow. “You...don’t miss.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Why don’t you call your master?”

“Jamie!”

“Alright, alright. Don’t move. I’ll be there in—”

“Moscow. I’m in Moscow.”

“Don’t insult me.”

He hung up with a groan.

Barricaded in the stairwell, you clutched your gun as your heart pounded within the walls of your chest. You flinched at a knock on the door. But upon the familiar rhythm, your shoulder relaxed a micron.

“I really screwed up, Jamie.”

“Open the door.”

“I don’t know how, I don’t know…”

Jim finished picking the lock but rattled the deadbolt. 

“I can get through that one and the crowbar hooked through the handle. I just don’t want to.”

“Jamie…”

“I’m going to get you out. Like...like I promised.” 

You tore apart your makeshift security and threw the door open. Staring at him with wide eyes, you sucked in a breath.

“Jim, I...I make a mistake.”

“I know.”

Two hours and thirty-seven minutes later, your father adjusted in his seat at the dining table. He rubbed his palms over his knees and cleared his throat.

“I assure you, Mr. Holmes. If she makes contact, we will notify you immediately.”

“There was always something wrong with that girl.” Your mother tapped her immaculately manicured nails over the lacquered surface. “Too curious.”

Mycroft drew in a deep breath. 

“Mrs. Moran, we are merely concerned for your daughter’s safety. She’s been out of range for longer than anticipated. Nothing too alarming. But we will...rest easier knowing she is safe.”

“We know you aren’t telling us everything. But we respect the need for privacy.” Your father narrowed his eyes.

“How else may we be of service?” Your mother raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve…” Mycroft glanced down, burying the pain in his stomach. “You’ve done enough.”

On the jet back to London, Jim scowled at you.

“You can’t be serious.”

He set the handgun aside and shook his head. Leaning back in your seat, you swallowed; as if it could banish the look of disgust across his face.

“I don’t, I can’t. Jamie, I just can’t. I can’t trust myself.”

“What happened to you?”

But you looked out the window as your knee bounced furiously. Jim groaned and lazily aimed the gun at your head. 

“I offer you safe passage to an undisclosed location and you insist on dragging a coma patient with you.”

“Jim,” you groaned.

“To make matters worse, you refuse to just let me send my own men to retrieve him.”

He squinted and straightened his aim.

“And now, you’re telling me you are going into that hospital unarmed.”

“You’re telling me it’s impossible?”

“I’m telling you you’re stupid.”

He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward; barrel aimed right at your abdomen. 

“But if you didn’t insist, I wouldn’t know who you are. And I might as well shoot you now.”

“Thank you, Jamie.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of feeling comfortable with you.”

Heart thumping, you shoved your hands in your pockets and stared downward; brim of your hat shielding your face. As a recovering patient completed her lap through the hallway, you shoulder checked her and sent her toppling to the linoleum. 

As the nurses’ station scrambled to the patient’s rescue, you ducked past them and into your brother’s room. Your eyes darted around the monitors, tubes, and wires. 

“Don’t worry, Seb. I’m going to get you out of here. We’re going somewhere great, somewhere…”

“I knew you would come back for him.”

You felt your muscles harden to stone at the grating sound of your father’s voice. Sitting in the shadows behind your back, he rose to his feet and scowled at the back of your head.

“There you go. Rushing into things. Because you’re always so stupidly blinded when it comes to this boy.”

“This boy...is your son.” 

Nostrils flaring, you whipped your head around and glared at him. You balled your hands into fists and gritted your teeth. But, unperturbed by your heartfelt fury, your father took a few steps forward to stand next to you at your brother’s side. 

“I signed the DNR,” he said.

He reached for a tube protruding from Sebastian’s arm. But you latched your palm to his wrist and clamped down.

“Don’t. You can’t.”

Your father yanked his wrist from your grasp. Using his forearm, he shoved you away from Sebastian’s bed; slamming your back to the wall. With the air knocked from your lungs, you pounced on him from behind.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and squeezed.

“Don’t you dare touch him!”

You shrieked and rammed your heels into his legs. As you tightened your grip, your father stumbled backward. He slammed your back into the wall, forcing you to release his throat from the crook of your elbow.

With a snarl, you sprang back to your feet and tackled his torso. You and your father toppled to the ground. As a nurse rushed into the room, he withdrew his signature firearm and growled.

“Family matters!”

The nurse scurried from your sight.

Before your father could aim the gun at another soul, you slammed your heel to his chest. Twisting his wrist, you yanked the gun from his grip. But the weapon flew through your hand, sliding across the floor and spiraling under Sebastian’s bed. 

Seeing the look in your father’s eyes, you spun around and lunged for the gun. You knocked the air from your lungs once again as your chest slammed to the tile. But your father yanked on your ankle as you clawed for the weapon.

He started dragging you out from under the bed. But your fingertips grazed the metal just enough to arm yourself. In the blink of an eye, you twisted around and aimed the barrel between his eyes.

His palms flew up in defense as you scrambled to your feet.

“How could you just pretend that he doesn’t exist?!” you screamed. “After everything, EVERYTHING he’s done for this country? For this FAMILY?!” 

The gun shook in your hands. 

“He’s no good and he’s proved it.”

“Sebastian did nothing but follow every one of your damn orders. He was on time to every training, met every officer, went on deployment after deployment no matter how much I begged him not to. He’s a soldier!”

“Was a soldier. And look how he ended up.”

Your father rose to his feet with the calculated precision of a man who has done this far too many times before. 

“But perhaps,” he sneered, “I bet on the wrong horse. You are the smart one after all.”

You ground your teeth and shook your head.

“I’m no racehorse.”

“No, you’re my daughter.”

Breath.

Heartrate.

Air stream.

“You said it yourself, Dad.” You gritted your teeth and shook your head. “If you betray your own…go for the head.”

You executed him with a clean shot between the eyes.

As your father’s blood pooled on the floor, Jim strode into the doorway and took in the sight. His men rushed inside and started properly unhooking Sebastian from the machines. But Jim only scowled at your father’s body and clicked his tongue. 

His gaze finally met yours, hint of glee dancing behind them.

“I told you not to start without me.”

With a growl, you aimed the gun at his head.

“I’m a Moran, James Moriarty. And I never fucking miss.”

He tilted his head to the side and sneered.

“Oh, how I know.”


	4. Handle with Care

You scampered down one of the hospital stairwells with Jim on your heels. At the bottom, you paused at the door and outstretched your hand. 

“I have to make a call,” you said.

“It’s pointless.” 

“Not Mycroft, Jamie. I just...please.”

Glaring at you, Jim smacked his mobile to your palm. You shook your head and dialed, throwing the phone to your ear. 

As you waited for the answer, you started to open the door. But you retreated with the help of Jim yanking your arm back as bullets rained down on you.

You slammed the door closed and ducked on the other side with Jim next to you. He gripped your arm and leaned in.

“We have to—”

“Answer your damn phone!”

The bullets stopped.

“C’mon, Moran,” the other line spoke. “Poke that pretty head out the door.”

“They’re setting me up, Harrison.”

“Whether it’s now or tomorrow, I’m going to take care of you.”

“Chris, they’re setting me up. I’m telling you, I didn’t kill anyone I wasn’t supposed to. They’re framing me for treason.”

“You killed your own father moments ago.”

“Did you see that for yourself?”

“Of course not. You conveniently turned off all the camera feeds.”

“That wasn’t me, Harrison. All a rather convenient way to cover their tracks.”

“Whose tracks?”

“My family has served this country for generations. My father was recently invited to join a government organization that extorts resources and relationships for personal gain. He turned them down and in doing so sent them after us. Why do you think we were here to get Sebastian?”

“A government conspiracy? Do you really expect me to—”

“When has Mycroft Holmes ever hand delivered a dossier to you?”

Silence.

You sucked in a breath as Jim’s grip tightened.

“You never trusted him, Harrison. That’s exactly why you have this line. He’s catering to your competitive side. You have to believe me. He’s playing you.”

“Even if it were true…”

“You know it’s true because you know me. You know my legacy. If you thought anything different, you would have taken out the driver in the car outside this door.”

Grinding your teeth, you could feel the heat of Jim’s breath across your cheek. You slowly met his gaze and gripped the phone even tighter.

“They won’t stop coming for you, Moran.”

“Which is why you have to take charge of the team they send to find me.”

“If it comes between you and country—”

“I’ll take myself out.”

“I can’t buy you much time.”

“I’m going to run out that door, Harrison. It takes a good marksman to make that shot you set up from the third floor window.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“But it takes an even better one to convincingly miss. You better pull this off, Chris.”

“They always sent you on the assassination attempts.”

“Yes, leave it to Mycroft to fake an assassination attempt in order to position us as the only ones who can find the killer. He’s setting me up, the manipulative snake.”

“I know. But you need to come out that door if I’m going to fail at my job.”

“You always said you were just as good as I am, Harrison. Now’s your chance to prove it.”

At 221B Baker Street, Sherlock strutted out of his bedroom. But he groaned at the sight of Mycroft in the sitting room.

“Just sign my name on the card.” Sherlock waved his hand through the air.

“Her birthday was last month.”

“Last month? No, no, it’s...” 

But after a pause, Sherlock’s eyes widened and he scrambled for his mobile. Mycroft drew in a breath and rolled his eyes. 

As Sherlock furiously dialed, Mycroft swiped the phone from his hand.

“Doctor Watson is in danger.”

“Don’t try to distract me,” Sherlock pouted.

But Mycroft only held the phone out of reach. In a hopeless attempt to retrieve it, Sherlock stood on his toes. But the elder Holmes brother only pressed his cause.

“Sherlock, I need to take him into protective custody. And, by extension,  _ you _ .”

“The surveillance equipment isn’t enough to  _ satisfy _ you anymore?”

“Well, I thought you liked this one. Apparently I misjudged.”

Mycroft tossed the phone back to Sherlock before making his way out of the flat. He took three steps toward the door before Sherlock growled at him.

“What did you do?”

“What did...what did  _ I _ do?” Mycroft looked over his shoulder and scowled.

Sherlock glanced down and furrowed his brow.

“You have no investment in John. Your concern for his safety is trivial at best.”

“Excuse me?” John stepped down the last few stairs and raised his eyebrows.

“But someone is extorting my attachment to him in order to get to you. Overestimating your concern for my emotional wellbeing.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Mycroft. “What did you say to Moriarty?”

“Doctor Watson.” Mycroft cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I must insist you come with me. It’s for your own safety.”

“If this is about Jim Moriarty, I’ll take my chances here.” John crossed his arms.

“Contrary to my brother’s belief, not everything is about him. No, this enemy is coming purely for your head. And I promise you, you won’t keep it for long.”

“Enemy?” Sherlock scoffed. “What enemies do you have?”

“Other than myself because I still live with you?”

Sherlock jerked his head back as John redirected his gaze to Mycroft.

“Is this about the row at the pub? He dropped the charges.”

“When did you—”

John held up a finger to silence the detective. Drawing in a breath, Mycroft narrowed his eyes.

“John, what can you tell me about Colonel Sebastian Moran?”

Leaning over Sebastian, you stroked the side of his face with the back of your hand. 

“I’m so sorry, Seb.”

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end as the floor bobbed under your feet. Placing a palm to your waist, Jim leaned in to inhale the scent of your hair.

“You’d kill every person on this planet for five more minutes with him.” He brushed your hair back and trailed his breath across the nape of your neck. “Including me.”

“I’ll pay you back, Jamie.”

“I don’t need you indebted to me.” He retracted himself from you and sucked in a breath. “I’m smart enough to know I can’t control you.”

“I know you’re smart enough, Jim. But are you strong enough to not try?”

You turned around and paused, gaze lingering downward before meeting his. He placed his hands on your hips and stared at you. 

When you scrambled into the backseat of the car, Jim handed you a glass with a transparent liquid lingering at the bottom. You plucked the offering from his hand and smiled at him.

“I could figure it out if I wanted to,” you hummed.

“Do you?”

“No.” 

You smirked and downed the elixir.

Nestling next to him, you leaned your head on his shoulder as the world faded to blackness. Jim bit his lip and looked out the window; unsure if he should dare focus his attention on you. Even though he knew, with every fiber of his intellect, you weren’t going anywhere.

It still didn’t feel that way.

For whatever damned reason.

Now you stood before him in a shipping container turned homebase; lost at sea. But at least he was lost with you. 

“I have something for you,” he said.

“I’m done taking from you, James.” 

“You’ll want this.”

“Who?” You narrowed your eyes.

“A matching set. The doctor who failed your brother.” He glanced at Sebastian. “And a scientist who might be able to fix him.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and drew him close. 

“There’s one place I have to go first.”

“Anywhere.”

“Afghanistan.” John swallowed and shook his head. “We were stationed in Afghanistan.”

Grinding his teeth, Sherlock scowled at Mycroft.

“You don’t even handle operatives anymore. What’s so special about this one?”

“It’s a delicate situation, Sherlock. One that has nothing to do with you.”

Mycroft redirected his attention to John. But Sherlock shook his head and chuckled.

“No, don’t tell me it’s…” He sneered at his brother. “Sentiment.”

But Sherlock’s eyes widened at the intensity behind Mycroft’s.

“I  _ said  _ it’s a delicate situation. Not fragile like your ego, Sherlock. Fragile like a BOMB. And it’s only a matter of time before she comes for your friend.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and seethed through gritted teeth. “Did you really think James Moriarty was  _ that _ fascinated by you because the universe goes round and round Sherlock Holmes?”

“I don’t understand.” John put his hands on his hips. “I did everything I could to save Colonel Moran. He’s lucky he even made it back to London alive.”

“I’m afraid the Morans are not known for their understanding of the grey area.”

John furrowed his brow. “And it’s his…”

“Sister,” Sherlock breathed.

Mycroft clutched the handle of his umbrella and bore his eyes into the floor. 

“I recruited her as soon as the opportunity presented itself. She’s far smarter than she lets on. Which is exactly why I couldn’t permit any desk jockey at MI6 to be her handler.”

“And yet…” Sherlock took a step toward Mycroft. “She still defected under your watch.”

“Eight days,” Mycroft said. He stared down his brother with an unrelenting gaze. “Eight. Days. And that is a generous estimate.”

With a hard swallow, Sherlock leaned back. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“John, go with Mycroft.”

“What?” John retaliated.

“John.” Sherlock’s eyes flew open, gaze intently focused on the doctor. “Go with Mycroft.”

“And what exactly are you going to do?”

“Are you really not following? I’m going to stop this assassin.”

“You can’t stop, no! You’re not going after Jim Moriarty and an assassin, one of the Morans no less, alone.”

Mycroft drew in a sharp inhale as he looked between the two residents of 221B. 

“I hope you settle your lover’s quarrel quickly because the timer is ticking.”

Yes.

Yes, you were.


	5. Napalm at Night

With the heat of the desert scorching her skin, your mark from Moscow placed her sunglasses to the top of her head. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Jim.

“Never thought I’d hear from you after Berlin.”

“Call me a forgiving person, Vera.” He shrugged.

“No, you’re not.

“Okay, I’m not. But I am interested in your merchandise.”

“Since when do you need military-grade weapons? You deal with civilians.”

“My extracurriculars are growing costly. I need an additional revenue stream.” 

“You’re not cut out for my line of work, Jim” she scoffed. “I’m impressted you made it here in one piece. But that’s where my faith in you ends.”

Vera started to turn her back to Jim. But he cleared his throat and stopped her in her tracks.

“And my failure will mean all the more for you when you take over my client list.”

“You have buyers?” She turned to scrutinize him.

Jim wrinkled his nose at his combat trousers. “Deep pockets in these. Far more than I’m used to.”

“You are out of your depth, James Moriarty.”

“Perhaps. But I have something you might like to sweeten the deal.”

Jim nodded to his employee. The man threw open the door of the combat vehicle and dragged you onto the arid terrain. 

Sweat and blood mingling across your skin, you writhed in his grasp. As you passed Jim, you lurched forward spat in his face. Your captor yanked your hair and growled.

“Behave yourself.”

He handed a handkerchief to Jim who wiped his face. After a hard swallow, Jim nodded to Vera.

“Moscow.” He narrowed his eyes.

“What use do I have of such a terrible shot? If she was sent there to kill me—”

“She’s a Moran.”

Vera paused and drew in a breath. She examined Jim’s expression before taking a few steps toward you. Baring your teeth, you snarled at her. But before you could clamp your jaw on her fingers, she squeezed your face in her hand.

“Either you missed or you defied orders. Morans don’t do either.”

She could feel your jaw clench under her fingers.

“I won’t tell you anything,” you seethed.

“Why, Jim.” Vera’s eyes widened. “You brought me a double agent.”

“Someone wants you alive,” he hummed. “I have a feeling you’ll enjoy finding out who and why.”

Jim circled around you as Vera relinquished your face from her grasp. With a sneer, he traced the side of your face with a knife. The pressure nearly broke the skin.

Nearly.

“These Morans are near impossible to crack. But I think you have what it takes to get this one, Vera.”

“I expect a single transfer.” She raised her eyebrows at him. 

“And I want a demonstration.” 

“So predictable. Any excuse to watch the world burn.”

She whistled to one of her men. He withdrew a case from the back of their vehicle and presented it to him. Peering inside, Jim smirked at the rocket launcher.

“Careful, Jim,” Vera chuckled, “I don’t know if those manicured fingers can handle that much power.” 

She prodded your open cut above your clavicle with her index finger. Your eyes flew open as you clenched your teeth to contain your scream. But she reveled in the tears that rimmed your lashline.

Avoiding your gaze, Jim positioned the rocket launcher over his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes at a car driving in the distance; dustcloud following its path.

“Is that one of yours?” He grinned at Vera.

As she shook her head, you lurched forward.

“You can’t—”

Jim’s employee threw his hand over mouth to silence you. Jim fired the weapon. But just as the RPG assaulted the unsuspecting vehicle, you and your captor started systematically executing Vera’s men.

You took out the biggest threat first with a headshot. But as another lurched for you, you yanked on his wrist; inspiring him to shoot his comrade behind you. With his body positioned between you and Vera’s gun, she shot the man three times in the back before Jim planted a bullet her in the stomach.

Her eyes widened as she placed her hand over the wound. She aimed her gun at Jim and started toppling downward. But you shoved the body of her henchman aside and shot the trembling firearm from her hand.

You kicked aside her gun and placed your boot over her wound. She gasped in pain as you applied a gentle pressure. Vera’s remaining four men aimed their weapons at you. But they raised their hands in defense as Jim’s soldiers, should you dare call them such an atrocious title, circled them.

Scowling and sticking out his tongue, Jim handed his gun to you.

“Disgusting work.”

“Thank you, Jamie.” You twisted the ball of your foot as Vera cried out.

“Don’t get used to it.”

You smirked at him before redirecting your attention to the arms dealers. 

“Vera Petrova is no longer capable of running this operation. If you choose to continue, you shall under my employ. Are there any objections?”

As one man opened his mouth, you extinguished his opportunity with a shot to the throat. His blood spewed through his hands and stained the ancient sands. As the remaining operatives watched his end, you raised your eyebrows.

“I’ll ask again,” you sang. “Are there any objections?”

After a pause, you beamed at Jim. He inched backward as Vera’s blood leaked across the sand.

“No? Exquisite.” 

You ended her misery with a shot through the forehead. Removing your boot from her limp corpse, you winked at Jim.

“I’d never dream of feeling comfortable with you.”

That evening, your chest heaved as you walked away from the military camp. Smoke plumed toward the heavens to mark your final hours in the desert. 

With soot, blood, and sweat smeared across your skin, you leaped into the back seat of the armored vehicle. You pressed your back to your seat and smiled at Jim.

“Our work here is done.”

He bit his lip and peered out the window, entranced by the heat that radiated in the darkness.

“I told you I’d pay you back, Jamie. Now you have access to the biggest arms deals across Europe and the Middle East.”

“Vera only inherited the business from her husband. Her knowledge of the product left much to be desired. I knew she wouldn’t last long.”

You waited for his gaze to find yours before drawing in a breath.

“Jamie...all those years ago. I should have just, just…”

You readjusted in your seat and looked away. But Jim leaned over and waited for your gaze to meet his. He grazed his hand across the side of your face.

“Say it,” he murmured.

“I should have left with you.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What else are you not saying?”

“That you were right?”

“Guess again.”

“Jamie, I don’t want to play games.”

“I’m not playing.”

But as you narrowed your eyes at him, Jim’s mobile rang. Ignoring the intrusion, he continued to stare at you. However, against his intentions, you inched closer and retrieved the device from his pocket with calculated precision. 

“I think you ought to take this,” you breathed. 

After a hard swallow, Jim answered the demands of his phone. But as you leaned back into your seat, he gritted his teeth and shook his head.

“This is why you can’t have nice things,” he growled. 

“Let me speak to her.”

“Who are you to make any demands?”

Narrowing your eyes, you leaned over and outstretched your palm. Jim’s eyes flickered to you. But upon scrutinizing your expression, he drew in a breath and handed you the mobile. 

“You can tell Doctor Watson that the soldier who sent him home has been taken care of.” You leaned back and crossed your arms.

“Sebastian wouldn’t want you to hurt him,” Mycroft pleaded. “Please, return to London and we will make arrangements.”

“Don’t you dare speak his name.”

“You don’t get anything by taking out John Watson.”

“Save me the political response, Mycroft. You’re just trying to protect your own brother.”

“Hardly. He ca—”

“You Holmes boys try to pretend you don’t care about each other. But it only makes you that much more vulnerable.”

“And your brazen emotion has protected you so well?”

“Why, of course. There are only two points of leverage anyone could use against me and I shamelessly wear them on my sleeve. My father beat it into me that my emotionality was my greatest weakness. But actually, it’s my greatest weapon.”

You smiled at Jim. 

“By...how did you put it?...so brazenly wielding my attachments, I’ve shown that nothing will come between me and the ones I love. Including dear ol’ daddy himself. So go ahead, Mycroft. Send Harrison, send the Americans, send everyone. You’ll either meet the end of my gun…”

You stroked the side of Jim’s face and hummed. “Or you’ll be turned into shoes. And I, for one, would kill for a matching set.”

Forty-three minutes later, a courier delivered an envelope to Captain John Watson at 221B Baker Street. 

Furrowing his brow, John flipped through the photos of the torched militia camp: the team that sent him and Sebastian home in a single ambush.

On the back of one of the photos was a message in crusted burgundy.

_Nothing like the sight of napalm at night. See you soon, Doctor Watson. —M_


	6. 97 Hours

Three days after your sixteenth birthday, Sebastian successfully enlisted in the Army. You started counting down until he would leave for his training. 

Sifting through your jewelry box in your room, you spun around and held a single earring to each earlobe.

“What do you think?” you asked.

Sebastian crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. 

“The left. Complements your complexion better.”

“Thank you.” You beamed at him and spun around.

As you adorned your earlobes in the mirror, Sebastian closed the door and took a few steps into your room. He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat.

“We can talk about it y’know.”

“Talking isn’t our family’s strong suit.”

“Since when did you ever let family legacy stop you?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Seb. In 97 hours, you’re all theirs.”

“You’re upset.”

“No.” You applied some lipstick. “I’m simply stating facts. There’s no room for emotionality in this discussion.”

“You’re going on a date.”

“See?” You raised your eyebrows. “Facts.”

“Heartbreaker,” Sebastian snickered, “you don’t date.” 

You gritted your teeth and glared at him.

“The boy went through three rounds of interrogation with Dad just to take me to lunch. The least I could do is enjoy a free panini.”

“I’m sure he’ll melt hearing you call him that. ‘The boy’.”

“Not all of us have your dazzling charisma, Seb. How Charlotte caught you with the Collins boy and you convinced her to join you two, I will never know.”

Sebastian smirked and crossed his arms. “Are you calling me a tart?”

“I believe you just did.” 

“Why, baby sister.” He placed his hand on his chest and leaned forward. “I’d be insulted if it weren’t at least a little bit true.”

You set your lipstick aside and shook your head. Throwing the strap of your bag over your shoulder, you narrowed your eyes and spoke to him with a gravely tenor to your voice.

“You’re a stain on this family, Sebastian Moran.”

“Oh, Mummy. Is that you?”

You furrowed your brow and glanced to the side. 

“I was going for Gran. But shit, you’re right.”

“None of that language on your date, Heartbreaker. Terribly unladylike.”

“Oh, fuck. I left my manners back with my ability to please mum and dad.”

With a smirk, Sebastian wrapped his arm around your shoulder and led you out of your room.

“Let me drive you?”

“And conveniently need to sit two tables away and watch the entire affair?”

“I would even if Dad didn’t order me to.”

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Oh, I do. This is entirely selfish. He’s a good looking bloke. So if it doesn’t work out for you, perhaps you can give him my number?”

“Seb!” You smacked him on the chest with the back of your hand. “He’s way too young for you.”

“And I’ll call him in two years.”

He opened the front door to the house and gestured for you to go first. As you crossed the threshold, you smiled at him, trying to memorize his face like this.

“It’s nice to talk when they aren’t home.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I feel like I can breathe.”

At the car, Sebastian opened the passenger door and you slid into the seat. Rushing to the driver’s side, he hopped in and started the engine. 

“Why would you be so protective of that number anyway, Heartbreaker? You’re just going for a free panini.”

When you arrived at the restaurant, Sebastian held the door open for you and helped you out of your seat. You rolled your eyes at his chivalrous inclinations. But the clock was ticking and you were in no position to deny any more time with your brother.

Taking a seat at your table (back to the wall, of course), you scrutinized your menu and waited for your date. Three tables down, Sebastian shifted in his seat. He reached out to catch the wrist of your waitress.

“Excuse me, that’s my baby sister right down there. Her birthday was a few days ago and she’s on her first date today.” 

He slid some cash across the table. 

“Can you surprise her with a few desserts? She’ll love it. Just don’t mention her birthday. Say they made an extra order or something. Keep it casual.”

“Of course.” She pocketed the money with a smile. “Anything for you?”

“Just a coffee. Black.” He gave her a wink.

You fiddled with your earring as you debated between two options. The legs of the chair across from you scraped the floor.

“My apologies.”

“It’s no iss—” Your eyes blew wide open when you looked up. “Jamie. What are you doing here?”

“Happy birth—”

“Who are you?” Sebastian was already next to you.

“You make a decent bodyguard. Perhaps you’re in the wrong line of work, soldier.”

“You…” Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “You’re the thing that goes bump in the night.”

“You’re smarter than your parents.” Jim redirected his gaze to you and cocked an eyebrow. “Tom Adamson needs at least an additional thirty-five IQ points to maintain a conversation with you. I’m surprised he made it through Daddy’s inspection.”

“Jamie, what are you doing here?”

“Happy birthday.”

“We don’t celebrate birthdays,” you growled. “There’s nothing exceptional about being born.”

“When it comes to you…” He slid a small box across the table. “I disagree.”

“We’re leaving,” Sebastian ordered.

“No.” You glared at him.

“This isn’t a discussion.”

“Sebastian, please.” You placed your hand on his knee. “Give me a few minutes with him.”

After a hard swallow, Sebastian’s jaw ticked. He adjusted his coat collar and rose to his feet. 

When he was waiting outside, you leaned forward and stared at Jim.

“Why did you do this?” you hissed.

“I’m bored of your bedroom. The color of your walls is unbecoming.”

“I know it’s been difficult to see each other as of late. But this is just…”

“Are you...are you disappointed?”

“No, it’s a pleasure to see you. I just—”

“You are. You’re disappointed.”

Jim leaned back in his seat as his eyes darted around this room, determined to find what he miscalculated. 

“I know you weren’t interested in Adamson,” he said.

“No, of course not.”

“Then it’s me.”

“No, Jamie. You’re fine, we’re fine.”

“Why are you disappointed?”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“I won’t. But I still want to know why.”

You bit your lip and leaned back in your seat. Crossing your arms, you glanced to the side and shook your head. 

Jim clasped his hands together and rested them on the table. He leaned forward and looked into your eyes. But his expression was, unlike normal, curious—not demanding.

You sucked in a breath and swallowed.

“It was nice to feel a little normal. That someone normal like Tom...could like me.”

You cleared your throat and shifted in your seat. 

“Sebastian gets whoever he wants. And I don’t, I don’t want...anyone. But it was still nice. I was stupid to think anything of it.”

“I shouldn’t have tricked you?”

“No, I shouldn’t have been eager. My emotions are always getting me in trouble.”

You rose to your feet and grabbed your bag.

“I’ll see you later, Jamie. I’ve only got 96 hours.”

You sulked out the door to reunite with your brother.

Now, it felt like all you had was time with Sebastian: an empty bucket of time with nothing to fill it with.

As your body readjusted to the consistent sway of your new home, you spent most of the evening relaying your account of the past forty-eight hours to Sebastian. Sitting by his side, you squeezed his hand and looked down.

“I didn’t do it like you would have wanted. I know. But I hope you can forgive me for doing it the only way I know how.”

You paused, truly unsure of what his answer would—will?—be.

But when Jim stood in the doorway and raised his eyebrows at you, you stroked the side of your brother’s face and smiled at him.

“I’m trying this new sleep schedule.” You cleared your throat. “You’d be proud. But I’ll be back. I promise.”

“I still think we should have pinned that envelope to a body,” Jim hummed.

“We didn’t need to.” You rose to your feet. “He got the message.”

“When has necessity stopped me?”

You paused in front of him at the doorway.

“Feel better? Cleaner?”

“Your world is filthy.”

“Utterly disgusting.”

You patted him on the side of the face and retreated to your room. Hours passed by as you stared into the darkness. A part of your mind wandered to your teenage years, wondering what was in that box you never opened. 

But as you drifted to sleep, your awareness returned full force when the weight of the mattress shifted. You leaned your head back with wide eyes.

“Jamie, what’s wro—”

He covered your mouth with his palm and leaned in.

“Don’t say anything,” he breathed. “Unless you need me to stop.”

You held your breath as he cautiously peeled his hand from your mouth. But, receiving silence as your response, he trailed his hand along your waist. 

With calculated precision, Jim slipped one hand under your shirt. Your muscles tensed under the coolness of his touch. 

Taking the pressure he applied to your abdomen as inspiration, you tilted your hips back. His fingers wandered downward, peeking under the only slip to fabric to grace your lower half. 

“Tell me this is a terrible idea,” he murmured. 

His fingers traveled downward as you sucked in a breath. A gentle, but brazen, moan escaped your throat as he explored the warmth of your skin. Your wetness coated the tips of his fingers as your body twitched under his touch. Jim leaned in to kiss the tender location just behind your ear.

“Tell me this will destroy everything,” he breathed.

But your breath grew ragged as he traced circles over you. You arched your back, throwing your head into the crook of his neck. He buried his nose in your hair and inhaled the scent, removing his hand for only a moment to slide two fingers into you from behind. 

Every one of Jim’s muscles tensed as he pumped his fingers in you. Your body obeyed his every silent command. He gritted his teeth as your walls clamped around him. As you gasped and moaned through your orgasm, he closed his eyes and drew in a breath. 

Being second to a coma patient was unflattering. But being second to your brother was...well, he wasn’t interested in doing it again. Yet, he didn’t know what to do other than take as much as he could from you in this precarious limbo.

Jim removed his fingers from you, using the other hand to yank on your hair. A pained grunt escaped your lips. But he took no notice, placing a kiss on your jawline…

...And leaving.

You laid in the darkness until morning.

Trying to think about anything but James Moriarty.


	7. A Test in Trust

You returned to your flat after your fifth assignment from Mycroft. 

After completing your necessary security protocols, you tossed your keys on the counter and flopped on your bed. You dragged your hand down your face and shook your head. 

The travel was brutal.

But as you debated between falling asleep or taking a shower, your eyes started to flutter closed; taking the burden of the decision from you. Your skin prickled as the hair on the back of your neck stood on end.

In an instant, you bolted upright with your firearm aimed.

“Mycroft,” you whined, throwing yourself back to the mattress.

“I’m disappointed in your reaction times.”

You blew a kiss at the ceiling. 

“My specialty, Your Majesty. Just ask my mum.”

“Precisely why this approach works for you.”

“I hate you using my conditioning against me.”

“Would you rather I say how profoundly proud of you I am?”

“Oh God, that’s worse.”

“That’s what I thought.”

You propped yourself upright and glared at him. 

“Give me three hours to sleep and I can be wherever you need me.”

“I’m not here to send you anywhere. Merely to offer some unsolicited advice.”

You opened your mouth to speak. But your mobile started buzzing upon the covers. After silencing it, you redirected your attention to Mycroft.

“I’m listening.”

“This is a rather unfortunate conversation.” He cleared his throat. “But it is necessary. Given your naivety and—”

“My  _ naivety _ ?” 

“—physical beauty.”

“What?”

Mycroft drew in a breath and stared at the ceiling, preferring inhuman contact at this particularly gruesome moment in time. He slowly returned his gaze to you.

“I know you are inarticulate in the ways of love. But I implore you to consider desensitizing yourself to the alarm of, shall we call them, pleasures of the flesh. Quite simply because it may save your life one day.”

“Is this your abhorrent way of telling me I have to sleep with you to keep my job?”

“Now, you’re smarter than that.”

Grinding your teeth, you rubbed the back of your neck and bore your eyes into the floor. 

Of course, you never experimented with sex. You never had an interest nor an interested party. That would require you to socialize with anyone...other than Sebastian and Jim. Frankly, you preferred to shoot than seduce your way out of a close encounter.

But, having endured this conversation long enough, you glared at Mycroft and drew in a breath.

“I understand.”

“Very well.”

He started walking out of your bedroom. But the moment Mycroft took his second step, you called out to him. 

“Do you tell this to the men as well?”

He glanced over his shoulder and swallowed. 

“Yes. If necessary.”

Three hours and twenty-seven minutes later, your back was pressed against the brick wall of a nightclub. 

A desperate man with hungry eyes ran his lips over yours. You tilted your head backward, choosing the stare at the stars as you clenched your teeth. 

The entire engagement was loathsome.

As he nipped and kissed your neck, you wondered how such interactions could hold so much power over normal humans; like the warm bodies Jim entertained himself with before he tired of them.

The man slipped the strap of your dress over your shoulder. But the moment he pawed at your breast, you rammed your eyes closed and held your breath.

“Get off me,” you grunted.

“No need to be nervous, love.”

He nipped your earlobe as you scrunched your face.

“I said,” you repeated. “Get off me.”

You grabbed his face, clamping down on his cheeks with a relentless fire in your eyes. Ramming the barrel of your gun to his abdomen, just above his belt buckle, you gritted your teeth and growled at him.

“I promise you, mine is bigger than yours.”

You flung him from your grasp and he stumbled down the pavement. Blinking firmly, you readjusted the strap of your dress and holstered your weapon; completely bewildered by how anyone could regard such behavior as ‘amorous’. 

It had to be different for Jim. At least if he continued to engage in such repulsive activities. Maybe you would ask him about it someday.

Maybe. 

Unsure of where you were going, you wandered the streets like a ghost. Except you weren’t the one doing the haunting. 

But just as you were ready to surrender and return to your flat, a taxi came to a screeching halt next to you. In the driver’s seat, Jim glared at you.

“You didn’t answer my calls. We had dinner plans.”

“I’m on assignment.”

“You look like a prostitute.”

“Well, you would know,” you teased. “Do you decide whether you’re going to fuck them or kill them before or after you get a good look? Or do you always just go for both?”

“I don’t—”

Wrinkling your nose at him, you leaned over the open window. You tapped your gun along the inside of the door and raised your eyebrows

“You’ve got a body, don’t you?” 

He shrugged.

With a laugh, you strode to the passenger side and threw open the door. Slamming your back to the seat, you shook your head and smirked.

“Good, because I could really mangle a corpse right now.”

“As long as you help me dig the ditch.” He started driving. “Last time was…” 

Jim scrunched his face in disgust.

Kicking off your heels, you crossed your arms and scoffed. Jim’s eyes darted to you. The compromising position did not go unnoticed by him. You, however, did not catch the widening of his eyes as you stared at the road ahead.

“You really ought to outsource your dirty work, Jamie.”

“It takes time to build a consistent client base.” He scowled.

“Profit margin is just a vanity metric. You’ll be relieved to delegate. I know you.”

“What kind of an assignment involves you looking like  _ that _ ?”

“Trust me, this isn’t the outfit I would have chosen either,” you grumbled.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“And you’re smart enough to know that I can’t.”

Jim rolled his eyes and tightened his hand around the steering wheel. 

“You Morans and your loyalty to country.”

“I wish you would stop tracking me when I’m home. Maybe I didn’t answer your calls for a reason.”

“Like a late night gathering of the harem?”

“Jamie!” You smacked his chest.

He raised his hands in reply. With a sinister grin, he glanced at you as the taxi took a direction of its own. You held your breath as you veered closer and closer and closer to the right side of the road. 

As an oncoming car honked at you, you stared at Jim. But he only smiled in reply. 

“Damn it, Jim!”

The car swerved and, with a second to spare, you yanked on the steering wheel and redirected the taxi. 

His hands took their rightful place, fingers grazing yours as you pulled away. You crossed your arms and stared out the window.

“Do you really want to get in an accident with a bloody body in the boot?”

“I could talk myself out of it. You’d just call your master.”

But you swallowed, cursing the stars for letting you down.

“Do you enjoy it?” you asked.

“Running my mouth? I thought you knew me bet—”

“When you fuck them?”

Jim’s expression went blank as he stared at you. You weren’t sure if you should be staring back, although you did regardless of the answer. Your heart leaped into your throat as you seized the steering wheel.

“JAMIE!”

You redirected the taxi from the pavement. Jim snapped out of his trance and blinked firmly, regaining control of the vehicle. 

“They’re going to find three bodies if you don’t—”

“No.” He swallowed. “I don’t, I don’t enjoy it.”

“Oh.”

You furrowed your brow, body tingling with regret.

“And I don’t pay anyone to have sex with me,” he snipped. “Truly, they should be paying me.”

“But I missed you at the harem meeting?”

Jim rolled his eyes and slammed on the accelerator, unsure of what he was trying to escape.

Three days later, you went on your first dual operation. You didn’t know it, but Jim was already scouring the earth for any and all information on this alleged partner of yours.

“Harrison.” The experienced agent grinned and extended his hand. “I hear you’ll give us all a run for our money.”

But you crossed your arms and glared at him. 

“I also hear you don’t play nicely with others,” he laughed.

He was a few years your senior; your brother’s type. 

Surely.

Rolling your eyes, you threw your bag over your shoulder and grumbled.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

The operation was simple; insulting really. The target enjoyed an urban jog between 0800 and 0900. Even with her security team, you could complete this assignment on two hours of sleep. 

But, given your conversation with Mycroft, it seemed he deemed you in need of a babysitter. You were so naive, beautiful, and helpless, after all. So Chris Harrison would supervise your actions and provide the backup you didn’t need.

In the boot of a vehicle, you peered through the taillight; having removed the electric fixture in your various vehicle customizations from the night before. 

When your mark came into view, you pressed the barrel of your rifle to the plastic. It lifted the taillight via the hinge you installed. 

From a fourth-floor flat, Harrison looked through his scope.

“There’s no way you can make that shot. You’re too low to the ground.”

“Maybe there’s no way you could make this shot. But I’m feeling quite confident.”

“Your feelings don’t instill certainty in me. I’m going to handle this. If you miss, her security protocols will go in place and we’ll lose our window.”

“I planned this out to the last detail. You’re not robbing me of this.”

“As far as the British government is concerned, we don’t exist. So I don’t care whose undying gratitude you’re yearning for, do not pull that trigger.”

Silence.

“Stand down, Moran. That’s an order.”

But, your target placed her hands on her knees and buckled over. As she panted to catch her breath, you tugged on that trigger and executed her with a clean shot to the head. Her body flew backward upon the impact, inspiring her security team to withdraw their weapons and search for the gunman.

You retreated your rifle back into the vehicle, effectively turning the taillight into just a broken fixture once again. Someone ought to ticket you.

“Moran! I told you to—”

But Harrison whipped his head around as a small explosion erupted behind him. Smoke plumed out the window and the security team pointed to the disturbance in the crisp morning air.

“There!”

They dashed up the building in search of their employer’s killer. 

Smirking, you scrambled into the driver’s seat and commanded the engine to life. You drove round, round, round the building until a door on the ground level swung open.

“Need a ride?” You batted your eyelashes as Harrison.

“Oh, you—” 

But he whipped his head around at the sound of shouting in the distance and rushed inside.

When you were safely out of range of the hired goons, Harrison glared at you.

“You defied my direct orders.”

“Um, your communication skills need a little work.”

“I told you explicitly to stand down and you still fired that shot. You got lucky.”

“You didn’t tell me anything. You said we can’t miss our window then went silent on me. I said I planned this. And I took your silence as acceptance.”

“No, I…”

He yanked your com from your ear.

“Hey!” you whined as he grabbed a few strands of hair in the process.

Harrison examined and tested the device. Then examined and tested it again. And upon his fifth study in communicative error, he deemed the equipment unfit for duty.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He threw it to the floor of the vehicle. “But you still put explosives in the flat I was in.”

“To get rid of your evidence. And I picked you up, didn’t I?”

“Again, you got lucky. That’s no excuse for setting me up without—”

“Look, you arrogant dick. If this was an exercise in trusting people, it seems like you are the one who’s failed. You assume that I defied your orders and set out to screw you over. But I, unlike you, actually have faith in your ability. I knew you could handle evading a team of suits _ and _ exactly which escape route you would use because it’s the same one I would have taken. You had at least a five-minute head start. And I knew that the target would pause for air on top of that hill like she has every run. She hasn’t beaten it yet. And apparently never will.”

“You, you still should have told me.”

“You are not a man of faith. You are a man of facts. You had to see it for yourself. And now you can tell Mycroft that I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

You slammed the car to a stop in a long-abandoned car park and turned off the engine.

“Now, I’m going to blow this car up.”

Throwing yourself from the vehicle, you shot daggers at him with your eyes. 

“I assume you can get back to the hotel on your own?”

“Of course, it’ll be safer if we split up.”

“I agree.”

“Good.” 

You and Harrison strutted in opposite directions. Once you were out of range, you shouted at him; the doomed vehicle exactly in the center between you.

“Oh, and Harrison?”

“Yes?” Hands in his pockets, he rolled his eyes and turned around.

“I’m a Moran. And we don’t bloody miss.”

You jammed your thumb on the detonator. The car erupted in flames and started blaring the alarm as its final cry. You shook your head and ran off in search of a secure way back to your designated hotel.

Already looking forward to returning to London for your dinner reservations with Jim.

For whatever damned reason.


	8. Through the Crosshairs

In the hotel bar, you sipped your club soda and swiveled around on your bar stool. Crossing your legs, you cocked an eyebrow at a couple on the other side of the room.

Harrison sat next to you and sucked in a breath. “Surely, you aren’t—” 

“I don’t drink.”

He cleared this throat and set his fist on the table.

“I want to—”

“Shh!”

You waved a finger in his face as the corner of your lip upturned in a smirk. The bartender set two drinks in front of the couple. 

The man took a sip and spat it right out. He dunked his hand in the glass and, with horror written across his face, whipped out a ring. His partner's eyes widened as she started furiously shaking her head.

“I didn’t, no, that wasn’t me!”

“I told you,” he snipped, “we have to wait until the deal goes through. Then we can talk about...commitment.”

The bartender rushed over. 

“My apologies, this was not intended for you.”

You swiveled back around and raised your eyebrows at Harrison.

“You want to apologize. I will begrudgingly accept and then we will proceed to have a perfectly cordial professional relationship. Yes?”

“Er, that’s the general idea, yes.”

The bartender smacked the ring in front of you. 

“You said he was your brother.”

“Mmm, I said he was like a brother to me.” You tossed a few tenners, American twenties, and 5,000 yen on the counter. “Thanks for the evening entertainment.”

Swiping the ring and throwing it back on your finger, you started strutting away from the bar. But Harrison yanked on your wrist. You latched your palm over his knuckles and twisted his arm outward until he was bent over.

“Moran!” he protested. “Are you mad?!”

“No, I am just overwhelmed by my emotions.”

“I never said you were,” he grunted.

“You didn’t have to.”

You freed his arm and stomped off, dismissing your shadow as you made your way to the lift.

After ramming your knuckle on the up button, you sucked in a breath and crossed your arms. When the doors opened, you dashed inside. But, the world working against you, Harrison slammed his palm to the closing door and shoved it open; even as you assaulted the button for your floor.

He stepped inside and leaned against the wall. 

“They told me you don’t play well with others.”

“Who says I’m playing with you at all?” 

“You said I don’t trust people. It was, admittedly, a fair assessment. But you…”

“Oh, piss off!”

You leaned over to press the button for the next floor, creating an expedited escape. But Harrison initiated the lift alarm. He rested his hand over yours as the floor bobbed into place.

“This job will be easier if you have...allies,” he said.

You crossed your arms and leaned back. “Is that what you want? My allyship?”

“Admittedly, you would be a powerful one.”

“So this is what you do? Collect up agents for your doomsday plan?”

He took a step forward but you raised a finger to stop him in his tracks.

“We were sent on an operation. I wouldn’t think twice about sacrificing you if it was absolutely necessary.”

“Likewise.”

“Then how are we supposed to trust each other if we are disposable?”

But instead of a verbal reply, Chris Harrison kissed you.

He bloody kissed you.

And then, he began tapping along your waist.

_We trust because we are disposable._

You tangled your fingers into his hair as he told you how the British government would disown you and disavow your actions if anything were to go wrong. Your fingers trailed down his jaw and tapped along his stubble, telling him of course you knew that.

But he stole the breath from your lungs as he lifted you onto the railing. He squeezed your thigh as you wrapped your legs around his waist. As you raked your fingers along his upper back, he tapped the tender skin behind your ear.

Harrison said that Mycroft would send you to the wolves if he had to. Which, again, you reminded him that you knew. With a gasp, he disconnected his lips from yours.

“You will always have your mission.” He traced the tip of his tongue over yours as your mouth hung open. “But you could also have me.”

You leaned your head back as his teeth grazed your neck.

“We have to look out for each other,” he breathed onto your skin. “Do you trust me?”

Harrison returned his lips to yours and talked to you through ragged kisses.

“If not, punch me in the face and this conversation never happened.”

But you hooked your fingers through his belt loops and brought him closer to you. You latched your palms to the sides of his face and stared at him with wide eyes, wondering if this was how it felt…

Was this how it felt?

You dug your nails into the roots of his hair and yanked his lips back to yours, appreciating this moment of efficiency. While Chris Harrison would have just as easily accepted a simple yes from your rough breath, you accepted the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

And so, with every kiss, zipper undone, and stroke of skin, you wondered.

You wondered as he thrust himself inside you and you threw your head back with a gasp. You wondered as he bit your neck and rocked himself into you at a pace that you hated to love. 

You wondered as you locked eyes with the lift security camera and mouthed ‘fuck you’ before allowing the untrusting agent to extract as much pleasure from your aching, heartbroken body as it would allow.

And as your walls tightened around him in a rhythmic display, you buried your face in his neck and wondered.

Wondered if this is what Jim meant when he said he didn’t enjoy it.

Chest heaving, Chris untangled himself from you and you leaped down from the railing. You each adjusted your clothing with a few lingering grunts and avoided eye contact. 

Biting your lip, you spun the ring around your finger and he pointed to you.

“That your brother’s?” he panted.

Your eyes bolted to his.

“Um, yes.”

“Thought you would treat that with more care.”

“Trust me, Harrison. I wouldn’t let anyone walk away with this.”

“That I do, Moran. That I do.”

He disengaged the lift alarm and you continued your ascent through the hotel floors, ceaseless spinning your ring around your finger.

You and Chris Harrison continued your exchanges of broken trust, completing every successful joint mission with a tangled, twisted connection of your bodies. 

And while Jim knew and you knew that he knew, he refused to comment on the bruises that certainly weren’t from your father. But what he didn’t realize was that you had grown to enjoy it.

That was...until the night you found yourself in his bed. After sleeping with Jim, any satisfaction with the sniper was fleeting. And your forbidden, but necessary, connection gradually frayed to a weakened thread.

Jim knew. And you knew that he knew.

Sometimes, you missed Harrison’s version of trust.

He was the first to phone you after Sebastian’s unexpected return to London. You spared the both of you by giving him a political response, unsure of how he too heard the worst news of your life. 

But now, you couldn’t be bothered by childish dreams of romance. 

You had a killer to catch.

At least, as far as you were concerned, he was a killer.

In a relatively barren flat across the street from 221B, you clenched your jaw and watched John Watson bicker with his flatmate. 

“Holmes grew up nicely,” you murmured. 

Jim’s jaw ticked.

You withdrew your gaze from your scope and cocked an eyebrow. 

“I’m looking at him through my crosshairs. Are you really jealous?”

“I don’t bother myself with jealousy. It’s a waste.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned in to continue your studies. But Jim shoved you out of the way.

As he adjusted the sniper rifle, you yanked his hand from the trigger. 

“We’re not killing anyone today, Jamie.”

“I detest your patience.”

“I’m growing more impulsive by the day,” you groaned. “It’s disappointing.”

Jim grazed his index finger over the trigger and clicked his tongue. 

“I could just nick the hair on his head.”

“No, you couldn’t.” You crossed your arms and leaned against the desk.

He whipped his head around and narrowed his eyes. 

“You’re a mediocre shot, at best.” You shrugged. “We’d end up with pieces of skull across their front door.”

“Who says it was because I missed?” He adjusted his aim. 

“Jamie.”

Resting your hand on his shoulder, he stood upright and turned around. With a smirk upon your lips, you walked two of your fingers up his chest and draped your arms over his shoulders. 

“If you’re itching to murder someone, we can go elsewhere.”

Jim leaned in and traced his nose along the side of your face. 

“You don’t kill for pleasure. Only necessity.”

“And I deem it necessary that you have some pleasure of your own,” you murmured into his ear. 

He decorated your hip with circles of his thumb. A gentle chuckle rippled from your throat as you raked your fingers through his hair.

“What’s on the menu tonight, Jamie? Poison or bullet holes?”

Jim opened his mouth to reply. But his mobile stole the opportunity as it started ringing. You reached into his jacket pocket and answered.

“What?” Jim spat.

“It’s the patient, sir. He, um, he’s awake.”

Your eyes bolted to Jim's as they blew wide open. John Watson certainly wouldn't pay for his crimes against the Morans today because your brother was back.

Finally back from the war.


	9. Welcome Home, Colonel Moran

War whittled away at Sebastian’s heart like a beetle on dead wood. 

Every time he returned from a deployment, he was a little different. While time passed by all the same, you and Sebastian grew up to meet the demands of your respective warzones.

You learned the language of love, the most disturbing of all the orders you received. But Sebastian...well, he only wanted to please your father.

Every time your brother came back to London, you laid out clean sheets and fluffed pillows to accommodate him at your flat. It was your one requirement for your work for Mycroft. For every life you exterminated and assassination attempt you feigned, you would always be home when Sebastian returned.

After his first successful deployment, you and Sebastian completed the obligatory dinner with your parents. But escaping to your flat as quickly as you could, you laughed your way to the kitchen table and raised a bottle of scotch.

“Sure.” He nodded.

You poured two glasses and threw your feet on the table as you swirled the amber liquid. Sebastian downed his in a single gulp and you raised your eyebrows.

“Well then.” You poured him another round. “Unless you just want the bottle.”

He gritted his teeth and clenched his fingers around his glass. But after sucking in an inhale, he looked at you with remorseful eyes.

“Does it get easier?”

“You could always handle your alcohol, Seb.”

“Not, no.” He set his glass down. Clasping his hands, he leaned over the table and raised his eyebrows. “You and I have always been different from each other. We’re, um, different types of people.”

“Sure…”

“But you know me better than anyone. So I need you to answer me honestly.”

You set your feet down and tilted your head to the side. “Of course. Anything.”

“Will it get easier for me to kill people?”

Biting your lip, you tapped the side of your glass and glanced down. Sebastian took another gulp and gritted his teeth.

“I know it doesn’t bother you. Not like...not like this.” He waited for you to return eye contact. “But you, you know me. Do you think it will get better?”

“I...I don’t know, Seb. But fuck. I, I hope not.”

He traced his fingers over his chin and shook his head. “What the hell did I get myself into?”

“The family business. We, we both did.”

“This is everything I ever wanted. At least, it was supposed to be.”

“I’m sorry, Sebastian. I really am.”

But, ignoring the nagging of his true nature, Sebastian continued to board a plane and go wherever his country asked him to. And every time he returned home, he was...different.

Instead of echoing off the walls, his laugh tamed to the gentle rumble of a single chuckle, snort, or snicker. He no longer drank alcohol to celebrate or to relax, but to cope with the weight of simply existing. And you wished, how you wished, you could make it easier for him to do his job.

For him to be a Moran.

Returning from one of his deployments, he outstretched his hand to you; handshake hardening over the years. Blinking a few times, you glanced from his open palm to his face. You shook your head and threw yourself to him, draping your arms over his shoulders.

“Don’t be stupid, Seb.”

“I’m sorry, I-I forgot.” He tentatively placed his hands on your back and returned your hug.

And when the inevitable came and it was time for him to depart, you bit your lip and stared at him.

“Are there at least any beautiful soldiers for you to fall in love with? Or...not love?”

“Oh, Heartbreaker. I don’t have time for that anymore. I have to maintain my focus.”

“Well, maybe, maybe you can one day. Maybe you can fall in love for the both of us. Because I never could.”

Sebastian closed his eyes and swallowed. He unfurled his arms and you, like many times before, pressed your ear to his chest and listened to his heartbeat. For as much as the tenor of his voice, the vibrance of his laugh, and even the length of his sentences changed over the years, the beat of his heart always remained the same.

With tears rimming your lash line, you withdrew with a sniffle. Clenching your teeth, you pursed your lips and pointed to him.

“Fall in love, Sebastian Moran. That, that’s an order.”

“If you can take out this militia camp, I’m certain I can add it to my diary.”

“Don’t test me.” You wiped your eyes with your sleeve. “Just you wait, if I get sent anywhere near you, you’ll have backup like you never knew.”

He rested his hands on your shoulders and raised his eyebrows.

“Stay safe.”

“You’re the one fighting entire armies. What kind of a madman—”

“Heartbreaker. As the eldest, I’m ordering you to listen to me.”

“Are you pulling rank on me right now?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe.” You wrinkled your nose.

“I’m fighting entire armies with an entire army. You, on the other hand, prefer your solitude. But I implore to not do it all alone. And I’m not just talking about the job.”

With a swallow, you looked away and nodded.

“I’ll, I’ll try, Seb. I promise.”

And you meant it. Even if you were incapable of following through on his orders.

At least, you thought you were.

After receiving the news that Sebastian returned to the land of the living, you and Jim rushed back to your headquarters fast enough to nearly defy the laws of physics. From the car to the helicopter to the shipping container, Jim studied your every movement and bodily response.

The rapid pace of your breath and how you picked at your nails as if you were a teenager again. Which, in some ways, you were.

As you adjusted to the gentle sway of your seabound home, your stomach twisted in knots. But it certainly wasn’t motion sickness that plagued your heart.

The doctor conversed with Jim—you were certain she was there under duress—as you rushed into the room without a single thought.

When Sebastian’s eyes recognized you, you choked down a breath and sat yourself next to him; gingerly placing your hand over his.

“Heartbreaker,” he croaked. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, or everything. Sore everything.”

“What year is it?”

“They already checked me out.”

“Seb.”

After a swallow, the corner of his mouth upturned in a smirk as he completed your round of questioning. Jim took a seat next to you just as you confirmed that yes, your brother was finally home. 

Sebastian raised his eyebrows.

“Well, you grew up nicely.”

“Seb!” Your jaw dropped. “You’re such a flirt.”

Jim crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat. Sebastian’s gaze drifted back to you. 

“I’d say I’m the finest looking patient in this hospital. But we aren’t in a hospital are we?”

You shook your head. 

“I figured.” He raised a brow. “That doctor looked like I might bite her at any given moment. Which, I’d only do with her consent.”

“You’re high.”

“I think I drifted past mum’s expectations a few doses ago.”

Jim smirked. “We’ll take care of her.”

“I’m counting on you, Heartbreaker.” Sebastian took your hand in his. “Is that doctor as good looking as my morphine says she is or should I look elsewhere?”

“Oh my God.” You buried your face in your other hand and shook your head. 

“Although I sense my pickings are slim. Where the hell are we? And how did I get here?” 

“If we tell you, you’re going to forget all of it.”

“True.”

“How the hell did you manage to answer my questions?”

“Um, good question. You were always the smart one.”

“Oh stop it. You’re smart too.”

“Yeah, at least I don’t expect resurrected coma patients to starve.”

“You’re hungry?”

“Famished.”

As you started to rise from your seat, Jim rested his hand on your shoulder to signal you to stay. But you shook your head and stood up with him. 

“That’s okay, Jamie. I, um, have a few questions for the doctor. Will you come with me though?”

He gave you a curt nod and you started walking to the door. But you turned around and rushed back to Sebastian and planted a kiss on his head. 

“Welcome back, Colonel Moran.”

“I love you too, baby sister. I love you too.”

As he rested his head, Sebastian watched you rush out of the room. He was most interested in how Jim’s hand almost graced the small of your back. But the thing that went bump in the night decided otherwise and clasped both hands behind his back and walked behind you. 

When Jim closed the door, you slammed your back to the wall and threw your palms to your knees. You swallowed down air like a woman starved, fighting back the inevitable. 

Gritting your teeth, you slowly returned your gaze to Jim. He cocked an eyebrow as you shook your head. 

“You can, um, you know.” He put his hands in his pockets. 

And you sank to the floor, shoulders shaking to the gentle rhythm of your silent sobs. Jim traced his tongue over his teeth. But after a moment, sat next to you and clasped his hands over his knees. 

You, however, yanked on the lapel of his jacket and buried your face in his chest. As you painted his shirt with the forbidden expression of your emotion—he didn’t mind, for whatever damned reason—Jim tentatively wrapped his arms around you. 

He mouthed ‘feed him’ as the terrified doctor scuttled by. Then promptly returned his attention to you as he fisted your shirt to bring you closer. Purely so he could inhale the smell of your hair.

Of course. 

That was all he ever wanted.


	10. The Game is Won

Licking your lips, you narrowed your eyes to select your target. Twelfth story. Southwest corner. Highest probability of success.

But, to your surprise, you were wrong. And as you withdrew your Jenga block, the tower came toppling down.

“Dammit!”

Propped up in his bed, Sebastian snickered as you scrambled to pick up the pieces. 

“We should have played chess,” you grumbled.

“What? No. You always let me win.”

“Did not.” You stacked the pieces in a pile on his tray. “Just...most of the time.”

As you began stacking the blocks, Sebastian cleared this throat and set his hand on the table.

“So, are you going to finally tell me what the bloody hell is going on?”

“Well, I’m going to win this round.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then fine! We can play chess!”

“Heartbreaker.” He slid the tray away from the bed, removing the barrier between you. “It’s alright. I, I already know. They’re not...”

“No, it’s not—”

“I’m not a child. I don’t need mummy and daddy to rescue me. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

You picked at your nails and glanced down. 

“Sebastian, there are things I need to tell you. Things I need to confess to.”

“Go on.”

“But I’m not ready to.” You returned your gaze to him. “Not yet. I just got you back.”

“Can you at least tell me where we are?”

“Somewhere in the middle of the Celtic Sea.”

“Who did you kill?”

“What?”

“There’s a reason we’re not in a hospital. Who’s after you? Did your handler set you up?”

As he leaned forward, you rested your hand on his shoulder to guide him back to the bed, back to rest.

“Seb, please.”

“Right,” he groaned. “Not yet.”

“I promise I’ll tell you everything. Just give me twenty-four hours.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave you a salute.

With a scoff, you rolled your eyes. But Sebastian raised his eyebrows, the jesting in his face replaced by hardened seriousness.

“Is there anything I need to know immediately? I’m here to protect you too.”

After a hard swallow, you took a deep breath and looked into his eyes.

“I’m a traitor to our country, Sebastian. And if you stay with me, they’ll think you are too.”

“Did you have to do it?”

You shook your head.

As Sebastian’s eyes widened, he drew in a breath and sighed. He vacantly stared at the wall and nodded slowly.

The weight of silence nearly crushed you; even though you should have been used to it.

But Sebastian closed his eyes and sighed.

“Years ago, you asked me to fall in love.” 

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m here to report to you, little sister, that I did.”

He tentatively returned his gaze to you. 

“What?” You drew in a breath. “Who? Sebastian. We’ll make contact. What’s his name? Or hers?”

Sebastian took your hand in his and looked at you with somber eyes.

“I fell, I fell in love with the woman who sold fruit near our base on my second deployment. The way she looked at you like you weren’t a soldier, but just a man.”

“We can find her, Seb. She must be worried sick.”

“But that’s just it, Heartbreaker. I fell in love with her. And I fell in love with a soldier who cried himself to sleep every night but couldn't stop smiling during the day. I fell in love with a prostitute...or two...or twenty. I don’t even know how many. Their faces faded to that of a woman I had to interrogate to find, to find her husband. And I fell in love with her too.”

Clenching his jaw, he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“You ordered me to fall in love and I did. I fell in love with every one of them. Every hand I shook, every life I took, and every ghost who continues to haunt me. I fell in love with them and the photographs of the families they left behind. I fell in love because it was the only thing I had to give.”

“Sebastian, I...I don’t—”

“I know you don’t understand. Your heart always beat to a different rhythm than mine. But I want you to know that I listened. I followed through on your orders but I just, I don’t know if I can ever get back the pieces of me that I left behind.”

“I never meant for you to lose yourself.”

“No, Heartbreaker. I’m eternally grateful for you. Because this, this is the only way I can feel anything anymore.” 

He dragged his hand down his face as redness prickled away at the whites of his eyes. 

“I fell in love with the world. Not because it deserves me but because I’ve taken so much from it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

He seized your hand and squeezed.

“I am tired of being a soldier, so tired. So I’d like a new identity. And I think a traitor is just as good as any.”

“You haven’t thought this through.”

“Every one of dad’s orders tore me to pieces. But yours, yours kept me alive. So I am ready to follow your lead.” He raised his eyebrows. “Colonel Moran.”

Clenching your fingers around his hand, you hung your head and choked a sob. And as you cried—for fuck’s sake, you couldn’t stop bloody crying these days—Sebastian watched you cleanse your heart of decades of turmoil.

Because now, with the two of you reunited, you could finally begin to redefine your family legacy. And you too were finally home.

As you gasped through your last sobs, you returned your tear-stained gaze to him.

“Dad’s dead.”

“What?”

“I killed him.”

Stunned, Sebastian blinked a few times as he stared at you.

“Did...did you have to?”

You shook your head.

Leaning back, Sebastian puffed his cheeks as he released an exasperated exhale. But after a moment, he gave you a sideways glance and raised his eyebrows.

“Did you at least go for the head?”

You nodded.

“Well,” he snickered, “at least he taught you something.”

“Sebastian.” You dragged your hand down your face.

“And mum?”

“Still disappointed in us as ever.”

“At least some things never change.” He released your hand and smirked. “Now, I believe it’s my turn to beat you at chess.”

Rubbing your hands over your knees, you rose to your feet and snickered.

“Oh, I’m going for the kill shot this time. You won’t even know it hit you.”

“I don’t know, Heartbreaker. I might have a few tricks up my sleeve. Your favor for the knight might come back to haunt you.”

Rolling your eyes, you left his room in search of a chessboard. Yet, your pursuits brought you to Jim’s room; as if mysteriously magnetized to that very doorway.

Without preamble, you threw the door open. On his phone, he spun around and pressed his finger to his lips. You closed the door and held your breath.

With an American accent, Jim scrunched one side of his face.

“Ah, yes. This is Agent Ross with the CIA. We have a reliable source that claims there is an assassination attempt on the Secretary of State. There isn’t must time to relay the information, but you must get him to—”

He withdrew a gun and fired two shots into the ceiling. Putting the mobile on mute, he tossed it to the bed and put his hands in his pockets.

“Something wrong?” Jim raised his eyebrows.

With a smirk, you swiped the burner from the bed and stomped your heel onto it; effectively silencing the disturbed MI5 agent on the other line.

Before Jim could react, your hands flew to the sides of his face. Tracing his cheekbone with your thumb, you pressed your lips to his. His hands wrapped around your back and drew you close; offering you all he could with a single kiss.

Your fingers crept into his hair as you accepted all the emotions he could not be bothered to understand. And as you pulled away, you pressed your forehead to his and bit your lip.

“I am in love with you James Moriarty.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

And, as quickly as you appeared in his quarters, you dashed out the door.

Strutting down the hallway to retrieve the chessboard, there was only one thought on your mind.

You already won the game.

And that’s when the real fun begins.


End file.
